Queen of Shadows (Throne of Glass, #4)

by Sarah J. Maas

“When you shatter the chains of this world and forge the next, remember that art is as vital as food to a kingdom. Without it, a kingdom is nothing, and will be forgotten by time.

She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was Aelin Fireheart, and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph.

Behind them, across the hall, the dancers shattered their roses on the floor, and Aedion grinned at his queen as the entire world went to hell.

She was a whirling cloud of death, a queen of shadows, and these men were already carrion.

He’d never heard so many words from her at once, had never … never even known she had a sister. Or that she was an aunt.

CAUSE HE DOESN'T CARE AND HE SUCKS

Elide’s bowels had turned to water by the time she reached the guards.

Queen of Shadows first watery bowels appearance

“Ten years ago, my parents were murdered. My father was executed on a butchering block in front of thousands. But my mother … My mother died defending Aelin Galathynius, the heir to the throne of Terrasen. She bought Aelin time to run. They followed Aelin’s tracks to the frozen river, where they said she must have fallen in and drowned.

“One more thing,” Arobynn said. It was an effort to lift a brow as he came close enough to kiss her, embrace her. But he just took her hand in his, his thumb caressing her palm. “I’m going to enjoy having you back,” he purred. Then, faster than she could react, he slid the Wyrdstone ring onto her finger.

“They did not know his true name, so they called him Erawan, the Dark King.”

Her voice trembled as she said, “They did not slay him. Not by sword, or fire, or water, or might could Erawan be slain or his body be destroyed. The Eye …” Aelin touched her hand to the necklace; the metal was warm. “The Eye contained him. Only for a short time. No—not contained. But … put him to sleep?”

Aelin’s mouth went dry. “Rowan,” she said quietly. “How do you say ‘Black Mountains’ in the Old Language?” A pause, and then a loosened breath. “Morath,” Rowan said.

“Hello, witchling,” he said. And the words were his own. For a moment he was so stunned that he blinked. He blinked. The demon inside of him recoiled, clawing at the walls of his mind. Eyes of the Valg kings, eyes of our masters, it shrieked. Do not touch that one!

Aelin Galathynius looked at Manon Blackbeak over their crossed swords and let out a low, vicious snarl.

Aelin had felt it before: a thread in the world, a current running between her and someone else. She’d felt it one night, years ago, and had given a young healer the money to get the hell out of this continent. She’d felt the tug—and had decided to tug back. Here it was again, that tug—toward Manon, whose arms buckled as she collapsed to the stone. Her enemy—her new enemy, who would have killed her and Rowan if given the chance. A monster incarnate. But perhaps the monsters needed to look out for each other every now and then.

“Because that golden-haired witch, Asterin …,” Aelin said. “She screamed Manon’s name the way I screamed yours.” Rowan stilled. His queen gazed at the floor, as if recalling the moment. “How can I take away somebody who means the world to someone else? Even if she’s my enemy.” A little shrug. “I thought you were dying. It seemed like bad luck to let her die out of spite. And …” she snorted. “Falling into a ravine seemed like a pretty shitty way to die for someone who fights that spectacularly.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be that person anymore,” he said. That person—that stupidly loyal, useless person—had lost everything. His friend, the woman he loved, his position, his honor. Lost everything, with only himself to blame.

At least he's getting it now

“What if we go on,” he said, “only to more pain and despair? What if we go on, only to find a horrible end waiting for us?” Aelin looked northward, as if she could see all the way to Terrasen. “Then it is not the end.”

She said softly, “You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.”

Slowly, Aedion drew his blade and knelt, his head bowed as he lifted the Sword of Orynth. “Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.”

Then she smiled with every last shred of courage, of desperation, of hope for the glimmer of that glorious future. “Let’s go rattle the stars.”

It did not seem like a weakness to fight for those who could not defend themselves. Even if they weren’t true witches. Even if they meant nothing to her.

Beyond the window, the day was bright, clear. The world had ended and begun anew, and yet nothing at all had changed, either. The sun would still rise and fall, the seasons would still change, heedless of whether he was free or enslaved, prince or king, heedless of who was alive and who was gone. The world would keep moving on. It didn’t seem right, somehow.

“There’s one more task,” Aelin said, holding the box out to Lysandra. “You’ll probably hate me for it later. But you can start by saying yes.” “Proposing to me? How unexpected.” Lysandra took the box but didn’t open it. Aelin waved a hand, her heart pounding. “Just—open it.”

They are girlfriends.

“What was it like?” Manon asked quietly. “To love.” For love was what it had been—what Asterin perhaps alone of all the Ironteeth witches had felt, had learned. “It was like dying a little every day. It was like being alive, too. It was joy so complete it was pain. It destroyed me and unmade me and forged me. I hated it, because I knew I couldn’t escape it, and knew it would forever change me.